The Wit of the Wild 



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peals to the human heart almost beyond any- 

 thing else in nature. 



My friendly phoebe was the builder and owner 

 of a nest made after the old prehistoric phoebe 

 fashion on the front of a well-shaded ledge near- 

 by. No new-fangled notions for her! She was 

 satisfied with the ways of her forefathers, and 

 expected her children to abide by them. Her 

 home, then, was founded upon a shelf hardly 

 wide enough to hold it, above which an over- 

 hanging rock gave not only shelter from the 

 weather but security against attack from above ; 

 and in addition it was shadowed and hidden by 

 a mingled maple and shad-bush. The face of 

 the rock was rough, and on many of its ledges 

 and projections, where a trifle of soil had been 

 borne by the winds or by trickling rainwater, 

 moss had taken root, and, clinging with micro- 

 scopic fingers, had spread into irregular patches. 

 To make her home look like one of these had been 

 the object of the little architect. No bigness 

 nor ostentation and needless ornament formed a 

 part of her plan. These might do for her 

 cousins, the strong kingbirds, or her other cou- 



